Heading south by bus Day #1 El Chaltén to El Calfate

January 14, 2020

El Chaltén to El Calfate by bus

I slept reasonably well in the tent city in El Chaltén. It had rained for much of the night. I was stinky, covered in dirt, and felt disgusting. I woke up at 6am and had to go the bathroom. The showers were still locked for the night. I returned back to my tent and was able to go back to sleep.

I woke again at 8am. It was a slow pack, and I had the best most amazing hot shower since Coyhaique.

Scott was ready before me and we left the campground at 9am. We didn’t pay, making it our first campground sneak of the tour.

We pedaled over to Rancho Grande hostel for breakfast. My body was sore and aching from yesterday. I had looked forward to yesterday’s epic adventure for months and had been on full adrenaline. Today my body was paying the price.

The hostel had slow WiFi, but I was able to share that I had made it to Argentina. I had eggs, bread, marmalade, orange juice, and coffee.

We then rode over to the bus station to purchase tickets to El Calfate.

We got tickets for a noon bus, and had time to pedal out of town and climb a hill to get the iconic majestic view of Mount Fitz Roy. There were tons of tourists in the parking lot who were impressed by the distance we had traveled. Unfortunately the top of Fitz Roy was obscured by clouds.

Riding on tarmac again felt great. It was so easy, and I could ride fast. The shoulder was narrow and the wind was heading south.

We went to a bakery, and ran into Armando and Eva out front. They would be spending the day hiking.

El Chaltén was way more upscale than any of the small towns along Carretera Austral in Chile. There were numerous tourists enjoying the shops, cafes, and bakeries.

We discovered that we could pay in dollars. The rate was around 60 pesos to a dollar and our change could be given in pesos or dollars. Prices were considerably better than in Chile, with an improved selection and quality. It felt more like Europe here, and I had heard that Argentina had a large Italian population. In fact, I was hearing many Italian words and phrases.

We got to the bus station to take apart the bikes. We had to remove our front wheels and I needed to also remove my front rack. It was chaotic and frantic on the wrong narrow concrete peninsula between buses pulling in and out. Our panniers were scattered everywhere and backpackers were already queued for our bus. Despite the fact that I had tried to clean my bike, it was filthy dirty and I felt sorry for the driver. The line for the bathroom in the station was long, so I couldn’t wash my hands.

The CALTUR bus to El Calfate took three hours. It would have been two days by bike.

The terrain was much more flat and expansive than along the Carretera Austral. The snow-capped mountains were now far away on the horizon. The barren Patagonia Steppe has intense solar radiation and wind. It is parched dry, and only small bushes and shrubs exist. We compared it to Wyoming, but it was distinguished by the large intense blue lakes. The highway had no shoulder.

The bus station at El Calfate was located outside of town. After reassembling our bikes, we booked a bus for the following day to the Perito Morenas glacier. We then attempted to book a bus for the following day to Punta Arenas. We were just about to complete the purchase when I remembered to mention our bikes. This would be a problem, and we were told it wasn’t possible. The bus lacked the capacity to stow bicycles. We visited several other offices and were met with the same problem. What to do? Scott had used the last page of our itinerary printout with mileage numbers to blow his nose. I had modified the document on my phone and had erased this information as well. I had only a crude paper map print out. It was possible to cycle all the way, but it would be brutal, with long windy days on expansive highways without shoulders. If we decided to cycle, the glacier hike would cut into one of the days we needed. We explored the option of busing to Puerto Natales which would get us halfway. One of the obstacles was the Chilean border crossing. They apparently check all of the bags, and bicycles are a problem.

We talked with various companies about a bus to Puerto Natales. Some were already booked. One would have to be tomorrow when we wanted to visit Perito Moreno. Others couldn’t get us across the Chilean border with our bikes.

We finally found a company that could offer us tickets to Puerto Natales in Chile, where we were told there were hourly buses to Punta Arenas. They promised us space for our bikes but were unable to issue the bike paperwork until just before the bus departed. It would be a late Thursday departure, getting us into Puerto Natales at 11pm. It was a bit of a gamble, but this seemed like the best option.

We headed into town and it was cold and windy. I was underdressed and had to pull over to get my rain jacket. We made our way into the center of town without a map or phone service.

We stopped at a hostel that offered food, beer, and WiFi. After sharing a pizza and a couple of pints, we got our bearings and I was finally able to upload photos to the blog.

It was convenient to be able to use dollars, and services were inexpensive.

We rode to the nearby Campground Amsa, which was only two blocks from the main strip.

It was a somewhat ghetto place. There were dogs running around and it didn’t seem very clean. The WiFi didn’t work, and there was a warning sign about theft in the bathroom.

We noticed that the electrical plugs where different from the ones we were accustomed to in Chile. Our adapter was useless here. We would need to rely on our battery packs and hope that they would last until we returned to Chile.

We set up our tents and then rode into the center of town. I spotted a souvenir shop that sold post cards and stamps. There had never been an opportunity to purchase either in Chile. The international stamps were expensive. To buy and send 20 post cards cost me $130. I told the clerk that I had never spent so much mailing post cards. I told her that I was old school- Instagram just didn’t measure up. I think my poor Spanish translated as “I am from a school of old people”. I probably spent the equivalent of her week’s salary on twenty post cards and postage. Apologies if you weren’t one of the lucky twenty recipients.

We went to Cervazeria Patagonia, an upscale brew pub with a nice environment including a roaring fire in the fireplace. There were many Americans. I had a pulled-sheep sandwich with fries and two 24.7 ipa’s.

Scott wasn’t feeling well. He went back to the campground while I went to the Oveja Negra for more beer while I wrote postcards.

I’ve gotten in trouble with numerous female servers for calling them señora. They want to be called señorita. Disculpa me.